The End is Neigh
by Knightfall1138
Summary: Short parodies of "Watchmen" as told through the journal entries of our favorite masked vigilante. Hurm...
1. And I'll whisper: Maybe

**Rorschach's Journal #1**

Tonight, a Comedian died in New York.

Sucks. But only proves what I always knew. Justice breathes no more in these streets—ignorance choked the life from her, ineptitude left her in the gutters, and arrogance made funny faces at her when she wasn't looking. Arrogance pisses me off. Must remember to break fingers for that.

Broke into Blake's apartment. Walls lined with framed newspapers and faded memories. Picture of Silk Spectre on the wall. Didn't he try something with her? Jesus, that's messed up. I dislocated a man's arm for littering. Broke a two-by-four over a woman's head for holding up a green light. Currently instigating justice in the murder of a rapist. Beginning to wonder if priorities are unbalanced.

Wander around the room. Kick aside bloody shards of glass and bits of the wall. Must have been some fight. Bet it would have looked epic in slow motion.

Know what I'm looking for. Check the bedroom. Living room. Kitchen. Bathroom…the stink knocks me back. This guy needed a window opened either way.

Check the dresser. More pictures. Smiles. Handshakes. Old friends. Presidents. Not the real Eddie Blake in one of them. The smiles are lies. The handshakes, a pact with the devil. The old friends…found myself in one of the pictures. Can't remember if I was smiling. No. Never smile. World collapsing in on itself by its own hand. No reason to smile…Except after hearing story of the great clown, Pagliacci. Love that joke. Laugh every time. Clowns don't deserve justice. Soulless creatures in my eyes.

Finally find it. Press the button in the dresser. Comedian's armor slides into view. More pictures. When will people learn? One hour photo kills secret identities.

Turn away from the dresser. Not altogether sure what I needed up here anyway. Memory must be going. Need a little tape recorder. Pen and paper is the past. Magnetic tape is the future. Like New Coke.

Find a business card for Adrian Veidt. Bloody fingerprint. Two forms of ID, including driver's license. Didn't know he was a Virgo. Must tell the other Crimebusters of the deed that's been committed this night. Positive they'll believe me…


	2. My city screams, and its annoying

**Rorschach's Journal #2**

Heading to Dan's house. The Nite Owl. Walking through darkness of the night and the darkness so prevalent in the soul of this city. This city is afraid of me. People cross the street when they see me. I'm filled with resolve. I am the light by which the cockroaches scatter.

Keep walking towards random people. Watching them cross the street amusing. A young man sees me and flees. Gets hit by a taxi. I turn down an alleyway and wait for the sirens to fade away. Don't think I'll do that anymore.

Take to the rooftops. A golden pathway built especially for me. From here, I keep one eye to the city and one eye to its future. And its future is bleak. I am bound to this place. My future is bleak. I'm polishing brass on the Titanic…still seems too soon to say that. What else? I'm putting out a high-rise blaze with a squirt gun. No. I'm trying to watch every episode of _Bonanza_. No. I'm feeding a steak dinner to a dog with rabies…yeah, that'll work. Need to make better analogies.

I'm feeding a steak dinner to a dog with rabies. It's more than what it deserves when death is fast approaching…Now I can't stop thinking of _Old Yeller._ Screw the whole thing.

Hear a scream in an alleyway. Dan's house will have to wait. Shame. Saw he got a new lock waiting to be broken. Promised to be the highlight of night.

Slide down a weather drain. Catch sight of a man in a black beanie standing off with a woman. Grab man by scruff of neck and slam his face into a 'No Loitering' sign. I tell him "It's the law" as he rolls around in pain. I'm fairly proud of that one-liner. Must remember to write down in journal…Oh.

Man starts crying. I kick him and he starts babbling. Says _he_ was the one being robbed. I tell him that woman was too good-looking to be a criminal. Turn around and woman is fleeing into the city streets. This city has a fair sense of humor, I'll give it that. City: one. Rorschach: zero. I'll get you for this, city. I shake my fist in the air. Man seems confused.

Decide to get something to eat. Big Mac combo. They forgot the onions. No. Not even in the face of Armageddon, never compromise. Turn to head back, but already three blocks away. Sigh and drop the food. Continue walking. Pray there's something to eat at Dan's house…


	3. Visiting the flabby failure

**Rorschach's Journal #3**

Rain falls in torrents. Trying stubbornly to wash away the filth and decay that plagues these streets. No hope for that. The infection runs deep. It spreads through the walls, the brick and mortar, and into the hearts of the weak. There is no cure. The patient is terminal. The Comedian knew this. There's no saving this city. There's no plug to pull so that we might ease its suffering. Nothing we can do.

A bum asked me for money. I tell him to get a job and he flips me off as I walk away.

Nothing we can do. This city is dead. A dollar's not going to change that.

Make it to Dan's home. Old friend. Old partner. Go to kick down his door, but it's unlocked. Lame. For having so much at stake, he was always lax on security.

Walk into house. Lock door. Break window and drop back onto street. Turn around and kick door open. Door splinters. Lock shatters. Fairly amused.

Home is unassuming and tidy. Like a grandmother's house. Down to the heart-shaped pillows. Dan thought he was doing me a favor by being my partner. Thinks I'm a weirdo. Little does he know—taking pity on him hardest thing I've ever done.

Raid his kitchen. Look in refrigerator. Nothing but condiments and Chinese leftovers. Not much has changed in my absence. Only thing missing are his tears and bottle of whiskey.

Look in the cabinets. Nothing but mason jars filled with preserves and cans of beans. Oh, Dan. You sad, lonely man. Take the can of beans and cut them open with knife. Take spoon from his collection on the wall and start eating. Not bad. Certainly doesn't fill Big Mac-sized hole in stomach, but will suffice.

Dan finally gets home. He's bewildered. Wonders what I'm doing here. What does it look like I'm doing? He asks if he can warm up the can of beans for me. Tell him they're fine like this. Not going to take chance that he might feel useful afterward. Toss him the bloody smiley face button. He asks if that's bean juice on it. Reply, yeah, _human bean juice._ Pause for effect. The crowd goes silent. Pull face back over mouth to hide shame. For thinking he's doing me a favor, Dan doesn't humor me much.

Explain my theory to him. Someone's killing costumed vigilantes. Could be Veidt, but not going to jump to conclusions. People leave bloody fingerprints everywhere in this city. Could be anybody. He doesn't believe me. Didn't expect him to, but disappointed nonetheless.

He's fat anyway. Fatty.

Take off through the underground tunnel and he asks me what happened to the old times. I grunt back, "You quit." That'll get to him. Satisfied. Bottle of whiskey will make comeback.

Off to warn Doctor Manhattan about mask killer. The one person who could see this coming. Must take the chance I've stumbled upon one thing he can't see. Relishing moment when I can rub it in his blue face…


	4. The indestructable man has a stupid face

**Rorschach's Journal #4**

Meeting with Dan left bad taste in mouth. Positive it wasn't the beans. He's lost and scared. Betraying all that he once stood for as the second Nite Owl. Possibly a virgin? Must remember to investigate further. And prank call incessantly if it proves to be true.

Make my way through the woods. Avoiding campers and men digging holes in the ground for no reason. Thought that was just a myth. The men digging holes, that is, not the campers. Campers are very real.

Approach the Rockefeller Military Research Center. Home to Doctor Manhattan and the second Silk Spectre. Breaking into a highly-guarded and highly-important top secret research facility housing the most powerful being that ever lived…easiest thing ever. Clip open hole in fence. Dodge the patrols and scale a wall to the roof. All seem oblivious to my presence. Step on a loose nail and shout curses into the air. No one seems to notice. Suddenly, not so proud of accomplishment.

Break into main hall. Didn't notice guard on patrol standing in front of me. He waves stupidly as I pass by. Why do I even bother?

Find the heavy steel door. Push it open. Find Doctor Manhattan standing twelve feet tall…and he himself is at least twenty-four feet tall. Gross.

I greet him and the Silk Spectre. Ask him if he knew I was coming, and he says yes. Ask him why he didn't leave the door open. He ignores me and shrinks to regular size…then he himself does. Sick.

Keeping my eyes closed, tell him of the plot against costumed heroes. He tells me he doesn't wear a costume. I see that. But you are a Crimebuster and this could be a threat to us all. He doesn't care. Says death means nothing—a repeating process that affects the universe no more than a breeze against a mountain. That it's an inevitability, and thinks I'm silly to find it surprising when an old rapist turns up dead—as that, too, is an inevitability given circumstances.

Call his mom stupid. Silk Spectre steps in. Call her mom a whore. Haven't opened eyes entire time, being afraid of catching sight of Manhattan's fat man and little boys. Don't realize that I've been teleported outside facility. Been standing here arguing with no one for at least ten minutes. Sigh.

Walk silently back through woods. Wonders why there are so few of us left active, healthy and without personality disorders.

Kick man into hole he's been digging.


	5. 45 years a Comedian, four days a corpse

**Rorschach's Journal #5**

Blake's funeral. Casket carted to graveyard. Grayed stones of men long forgotten. Rain falls all through the day. There are no tears here. God weeps for them.

Stars and stripes folded neatly over coffin. Words are spoken. None of them true. Altered memories of better days with the deceased brought to tongue. No mention of the man. The Comedian who knew how loosely falls the fabric that keeps this city from falling into open flame.

Remember first Crimebusters meeting. Handful of masked vigilantes and the superman wondering how they might save the world. There was hope. There was pride. There was sincerity.

There was ignorance.

Problem can't be solved. Comedian first to say so. Takes a lighter to Ozymandias' map to prove a point.

Such a dick move. But an effective one at that. Took everyone down a peg. We were all just men in masks right then. Except for Doctor Manhattan. He was a blue man with a package that gazed into your soul. He strolled off with Laurie. Don't want to know what happened. Have ideas. All of them equally entertaining.

Break out of trance. Discover Dan, Doctor Manhattan, and Veidt paying respects at funeral. All three of them unmoving, blank stares. Collective flashbacks…Realize I just had one as well. Becoming alarmed. Frightened. Why is this happening?

The funeral is over. Dan flicks blood-stained smiley button into grave. Nice gesture. Brought Blake such good luck through all his long years, might as well bury him with it. Oh, how visions of sympathy seem better on paper. More symbolic. More effective. Dan must be thick in the brain, as well.

Everyone is gone. It's quick and it's orderly. As if they had been planning escape since arrival. Unsure who most of these people were in the first place. Most were scantily-clad prostitutes. Seemed to display the most grief out of the bunch. Paychecks not coming anymore.

No one recognizes me. Not without my face, but don't make an effort to appear subtle. The end is most definitely nigh.

This has been a depressing entry. Hard to function without face. Funerals aren't funny any way you spin it. Even if you held one at a rodeo…Heh, nevermind.

Someone returns to emptied graveyard. Bent ears and withered expression. It's Jacobi. Moloch the Mystic. Archenemy to the Comedian. Uninspired fashion sense. Leaves a rose atop Blake's grave. Looks sad. Removes hat in respect.

Decide not to attack him with my sign. Let him pass me on his way back home. I shall follow him.

But not without my face…


	6. Hurm

**Rorschach's Journal #6**

Next phase of plan took long time to enact. Five hours of planning. Two hours of building. Three hours of sitting in the broom closet of Moloch's home. The waiting game is a harsh one. Pray that payoff is worth it. Will be no second chances.

Finally hear door open somewhere in apartment. Footsteps. Slow and steady. Through limited view, see Moloch set things down on table. Sighs and coughs, he makes his way to the refrigerator. Am clapping with anticipation as the door squeaks open. Beam of light consumes room. Avoids my little broom closet. My sanctuary. My hideout. No girls allowed.

He looks inside fridge and discovers product of devious plan. Took forever to draw. Neat little strip of cardboard with words written upon it, "Behind You." Sixth attempt. Forgot how to spell 'Behind'. Thank you, _Webster's_. Rorschach smiley face drawn on bottom of it.

Wait for inevitable turn. Wait for it. One minute. Two minute. Three…He doesn't turn around. Hadn't planned on this. No plan B. Nothing I can do until he turns. Sit here and twiddle thumbs. I am fortune's fool.

Hour passes. Moloch still staring into cold light. Finally decide to whisper to him. Hey, what are you doing? Replies, "Just hanging around." Tell him to read the sign. Says he did. Then, follow through, Moloch. Turn around. He doesn't want to. Says he doesn't want to get hurt or get tackled into something. Promise him I won't. Super swear. Cross my heart.

Moloch carefully turns. Tackle him into refrigerator. He's aghast. Accuses me of take-backs. Tell him that I have no heart, and even if I did, no one crosses me.

Interrogation begins. Hold bottle of mustard over his eyes. Close your eyes all you want, it's gonna get in. Tell me, what were you doing at Blake's funeral. Breaks out into tears. Whimpers that he just wanted to pay his respects: "To the Comedian." Ask him how he knew Blake was Comedian. Squeeze bottle just a little. Drop on the verge of falling towards his face.

He spills his guts on the matter so fast, make him repeat it…doing his best Fred Schneider impression…to the tune of _Rock Lobster._ Moloch is all questions and gasps, but he gives me the information I need. And he sounds damn hilarious doing it.

_I was going asleep._

_I was dreaming of magic powers._

_Somebody walked up to my bed_

_And there in the dark was Ed!_

_But there wasn't a mask…_

_It was a Rock Lobster!_

What? "It was the Comedian without his mask!" he screams. Was crying and sobbing, he says, and drunk. That Blake kept rambling on about a horrible event that would destroy humanity. Slap him and say _Temple of Doom_ already happened. But the human race survived and moved on—no matter how dark a fate it was to not die quickly.

He corrects me. "No." Starts talking about a squid and a plot against the "Big blue geek." Aw, that's a good one. Must remember to use on Doctor Manhattan. Won't see this coming.

Slap Moloch again and head for door. Confiscate illegal prescription but he begs me not to take them. When I press matter, says he has cancer. Ask him what kind. "You know the kind you eventually get better from?" He gulps. "That ain't the kind I got."

Throw prescription bottle at his head and he falls to floor. Got tired of his nonsensical riddles long ago.

Kick open his door. Lock breaks. Move out into the street and wade through the smut. Still haven't paid final respects to an old friend…


	7. Believe in me, as I believe you are fat

**Rorschach's Journal #7**

The _Gordian Knot Lock Company_. My constantly consistent adversary. Tried to thwart entrance to Dan's house before. Tried to hinder flight from Moloch's. Yet, here I stand. Eye to eye with your creation for a third time. All the cylinders, deadbolts and tumblers in the world can't stop this.

Kick in Dan's door for the second time. Lock spins around on linoleum flooring. Death rattle echoes in form of metallic ring. Sound soon fades. As does the security this home once retained. Break another window for good measure.

Dan's not around. Hungry. Exhausted. Haven't slept in days. See clowns when I close my eyes. Befouled their kind too many times in my mind. Fear the hauntings will not stop any time soon. Regret nothing.

Find cereal in cabinet. No milk. What kind of sick mind game is that? Starving. Desperate. Do not dare eat plain cereal. Not an animal. Need energy. Pour coffee over cereal and start eating. Dan finds me in kitchen. Must have smelled the food—took after it like a shark to blood in water.

He begins to complain about lock. Flick spoonfuls of cereal at his face. Brushes it off like it's nothing. He seems abnormally content. Ask him, why so happy? Tells me about date he had with Laurie Juspeczyk. The second Silk Spectre. Tell him that's fantastic and press the matter of which base he currently occupies with the female. Holds up three fingers. Lies. Can tell by twitch beneath his eye. Poor boy hasn't even gotten up to bat yet.

Humor him. Clap on the shoulder. Handshake. More than he ever did for me. Human bean juice. Still think that's gold.

Move things forward. Hand him copy of _New York Gazette_. Informs that Doctor Manhattan has left Earth. Gave a girl cancer. Couldn't please the other. Reminiscent of a rather sad version of _Three's Company_. Even indestructible man unsuccessful at pulling off threesome. Perhaps shred of humanity still lingering.

Dan looks over paper. Winces and shrugs. Still doesn't believe me. Coincidence, he says. Tell him there are no coincidences. Only weak-minded men playing into the hands of another. Maintain a vast conspiracy at work. Tell him that's only way he'd be able to get a date like Silk Spectre in first place.

Insulted, he shouts at me to leave. I flip over table and knock spoon collection off the wall. Mockingly tell him those are only kind of spoons he's ever going to get. Pushes me the rest of the way out house. Slams door on me, but it bounces back off the broken framing. He curses and stomps the floor.

Leave him behind. Nasty swear words drifting in air above him. Pick up rock. Break his last window. Just like old times. All the fights we had. When we were partners and I was his in-house suicide hotline.

Night still young. Empty street in front of me, but feel like I've hit brick wall. The trail's run cold. Must be something I can do. Must be someone out there with information and a fear of broken limbs. One can only hope. Hurm…


	8. MY FACE! GIVE ME BACK MY FACE!

**Rorschach's Journal #8**

Veidt's been attacked. Hired assassin. Unsuccessful. Conveniently discredits evidence against him in plot to kill masks. No longer a suspect.

Must review: Adrian Veidt. Ozymandias. World's richest man. World's smartest man. Unlimited resources. Gets caught up in same conspiracy that claimed life of Comedian. Drove god-like Doctor Manhattan away to Mars. Somehow, Veidt walks away unharmed. Coincidence? Never. If so, I'll start going to church. All hail Xenu.

Incident provided me with something to run with. Assassin worked for _Pyramid Deliveries_. Come on. Egypt-freak Veidt gets attacked by man working for company named after Egyptian landmark. I'm too damn observant for this particular mystery.

All that aside, Moloch worked for _Pyramid Deliveries_ at some point. How do I know? I'm a rapscallion. Must go speak with him again. This time, no games. Will push him into refrigerator without warning. Mustard in eyes without questions. Make him tell his tale to the tune of _More Than A Feeling._ Have tape recorder ready for this one.

Decide to shake things up. Drop kick Moloch's door. Catch broken lock as it falls. Manage to land on both feet. Why is no one ever around to witness these accomplishments?

Find Moloch in kitchen. Lit cigarette in his hand. Embers licking at filter. Start yelling at him. Insult family lineage. Claim he was worst villain ever. Had silly hat and gimp abilities. Start throwing things at his head. Moloch doesn't move. Cigarette filter catches fire. Spreads up his sleeve across his clothing. Man had to prove me wrong. That _is_ some trick.

Move to get a better view of show. Bullet hole in Jacobi's forehead.

Irony not lost on me. So, the magician couldn't cheat death. Bullet catch unsuccessful. Some turn. No prestige for this guy. Shoulda stuck with parlor tricks, old man. Wouldn't want you to actually impress….

Wait.

Hear sounds outside. Move to window. Place surrounded by the NYPD and SWAT team. They're calling me out. They know I'm in here…What I did?!

NO! NO! NO!

DAMN! It was a set up! An ambush! Trick! Deception! Hoax! Ploy! Bluff! Cheat! Con! Gimmick!

_A clever ruse!_

Well played, Veidt. But they won't be taking me. Not without fight. Find matches and can of Veidt-brand hair spray. Seriously, foreshadowing getting silly.

Can't sit here and write. Hear them coming up stairs. Why am I still here?! Can't…stop…detailing…life.

Will go and attack the approaching police officers with makeshift flamethrower. Pray this works…

P.S. – Oh, my God, it totally did…


	9. I'm not locked UP in here with you

**Rorschach's Journal #9**

Arrested. Whoever set me up, I played right into his hands. They've taken my _face._ _They've taken it._

_They stole it from us. We hates them._

Sneak journal into Sing Sing Prison. In usual place.

The scum and creatures of the night are climbing the walls in fury at my presence. Keep eyes forward and senses sharp. This prison no different than the prison that surrounds it. They all want the same thing: Me in a body bag. Preferably dead.

Cell door slam shut behind me. The shouts continue in the block. All aimed at me. Threats and curses. And threats laced with curses, with artistic allusions to rape. So stereotypical, it's sad. It's a regular _Shawshank_ here. With one exception—this prison has a midget. Which makes it at least three times better.

The Big Figure. Even as I sit on floor, he stands eye-to-eye with me. Dan and I arrested him years ago. Targeted him purely because of size. Apparently, had rap sheet the length of my arm, and at least twice his height. We put him away. He stayed away. From the looks of it, grudge hasn't eased over the years.

He bites down on end of cigar. Smoke slowly billowing out through nostrils. Tell him he looks like little tea pot. Doesn't seem to faze him in the least. Smiles and taps ashes of cigar into my cell.

"Laugh it up," he says. Maybe I should laugh it down, you'll hear it better. His eye twitches at this. Smile doesn't fade. "See all these men?" His arm sweeps out across the block. "Three hundred men that want you dead for what you've done. They're angry, Rorschach. They're all buying for revenge, and I'm gonna sell it to 'em."

"Threats?" I say. Scoff at this. Your threats mean _little_ to me.

Big Figure grips the bars. Cigar tumbles from mouth. Spews smoke at me while he shouts. "It's not gonna take long, you _freak!_ You're gonna slip up soon. Very soon. And when you do, I'm gonna be there. Just you wait. By the week's end, they're gonna be hauling you out to the graves in buckets."

Begin tirade. You're setting goals awfully _high_. Hope you live _up_ to them. Wouldn't want you to come up _short_. Will have to _dwarf_ your competition. Best not to be _short_-sighted in this matter…

He walked away a while ago. Wanted to make sure he heard me the whole way back to his cell.

Think about what he said. About slipping up. Giving him an opening. Don't believe I'm that prone to sparking anarchy. Would only make possibility of escape difficult. Will make extra effort to not upset balance.

**Rorschach's Journal #10**

So. Poured vat of hot oil onto rowdy prisoner's face at chowtime. Sparked prison riot. Big Figure and goons standing in front of cell door. Menacing looks. Smiles. Buzzsaw in hand.

What's black and white and red all over? My face…when I get it back. Only matter of time and _small_ obstacle to overcome…


	10. Need to visit men's room

**Rorschach's Journal #11**

The cell door is open. The prison is burning by the will of its occupants. People shouting and screaming. Blood on their hands. Something to prove. Something to show the world that has long since been hidden. Will only last the night. Flame burns brightest before being snuffed out.

That's all prisoners want. To burn out. Not fade away.

The Big Figure takes a step back. Fear in his eyes. His goons are dead, resting in lumps of flesh at my feet. Look the man in the eye. _Two-nothing. Your move._ Begins running away through the chaos.

Nowhere to go. Walls still locked up tight. Will find him later. Need face back. Move quietly around the bodies and scuffles. Death cries all around me. It is the sound of a dying animal. Soon, will be nothing but cold silence.

Find office. Belongs to Doctor Malcolm Long. Smart man. Not so much before. Now, holds my curse in his eyes. We are nothing. He sees what I see.

Find him hiding under desk. Heard he retired. Boxes of effects litter the room. Must not have made it out in time. Get close enough so that he sees I'm serious. _Where's my face!_ He points to a group of boxes. Rip one open. The man had many questions for me. Wanted to know who I was. Doesn't understand. Who I was irrelevant. Walter Kovacs long dead.

_Your turn, doctor_. Pull face over head. _Tell me what you see!_

"Great Scott!" he screams. _Terrifying, isn't it!_ "No," he says. "You have a _Back to the Future_ shirt on your head. Was just reading it." Pull fabric off head. Doctor told truth. Great Scott. One point Twenty-one Gigawatts. DeLorean and all.

Dammit.

Open a few boxes. Finally find face. Don't even bother. Pull on rest of suit. Try to avoid eye contact. Tell him this place isn't safe anymore. Better to take chances out there. Beat it, Doc. Make like a tree and get out of here.

Make my way through the prison. The Big Figure hasn't gotten far. Dinky legs and all. Runs into restroom. About to follow after him. See Dan in Nite Owl uniform. Silk Spectre at his side. Greet them both…

Something happened between them. Not positive it was sex. Maybe she just touched his arm. Easily excitable. Either way, Dan had smile that swallowed up his ears.

They beckon me to follow them. Have Archie hovering on the roof. Going to help me escape. Thank them. Cuss at them for not coming sooner. Then move into bathroom. Do something terrible to the Big Figure. Can't say what. Rest assured, very gruesome. Somewhat epic. Made _short_ work of him…Done with puns for now.

Fight a path to the roof. Board Archie. Disappear into the night sky. Flawless escape…

Realize I forgot hat. Make a fuss. Yell at Dan to turn around. Doesn't want to. I start pushing random buttons until he complies. Archie begins drifting towards the orange blazes on the darkened horizon. Wait until we land to tell him found hat in coat pocket...


	11. At midnight, all the agents

**Rorschach's Journal #12**

Dan gets us and Archie safely back to hideout. Graceful landing. Figured he'd be a pro at handling joystick. Must be champion at _Pong_ by now. Lonely, womanless years breed best players.

We exit ship. Dan makes face at Laurie like he wants to have another go at something. Still unsure what happened. Simple game of _Connect Four_ with female likely to excite him for weeks. _Operation_ would just about kill him. "Don't Touch The Sides" would sound like dirty talk.

Before anything (or nothing) can go down, blue flash lights up room. Doctor Manhattan standing in front of us. Have to duck out of way. Almost catch his thing in my eye. Seriously, I've seen him with briefs on before. Why he never wears them, beyond me. Think he does it as a means to intimidate other men in room. Only explanation for such blatant display of freeballing.

Manhattan beckons Laurie to come with him. Dan steps in, claims she's his woman now. First time I've ever seen the Doc laugh. Takes a few minutes for him to regain calm. The indestructible man. Can see both his past and present simultaneously. Emotionless and disenchanted by everything the entirety of universe has to offer. This same man somehow finds Dan's situation pathetic enough to disrupt his immovable view of causality.

Suddenly like Doctor Manhattan very much. Great minds think alike. Both of us recognize two darkest most hopeless things in galaxy. The fate of our world, and Dan Dreiberg's love life. Mental high-five.

Manhattan wipes tears from eyes and doesn't even ask Laurie a second time or wait for answer. Just takes her hand in his and they're gone in a cloud of blue sparks. The silence of the room and Dan's confounded expression consumes me. Laugh until face is wet and soaked through.

Board Archie again. Tell Dan we must investigate Veidt's office. Only one who could have pulled off entire evil plot. Were just kidding ourselves running around in circles for so long.

Breaking in is easy. Finding documents we need, easy. Veidt left them neatly stacked and organized alphabetically on desk. Ozy doing his best not to seem the cliché villain. Have to admit: rather impressed. Saved us the stereotypical search through office using flashlights only.

Dan not satisfied. Tries to hack into computer. Needs a password. Tries many things. OZYMANDIAS. PHARAOH. RAMSES. RAMSESII…THE PHARAOH FORMERLY KNOWN AS RAMSES.

Denied every time.

Tell him to step aside. Fingers fly across keyboard. Explain to Dan you have to get inside mind of a monster. Type in name of most sinister beings ever to wreak havoc on the innocent. Shudder in discontent as I strike "Return" key.

EWOKS.

Dan looks at me like he finally got all the evidence he needs. Can honestly say I'm wacko now. Victory is mine when the computer starts to power up. Pull up face just so he can see my smile. He shakes head and starts searching through files.

_What are we looking at here?_ Dan lists off things he finds. Most files seem to consist of Ozymandias and Alexander the Great slash fiction. One entitled: "Ozy and Alex – Commanders of the M-ass-edonians." Fairly creative.

Find folder relating to _Pyramid Deliveries._ Various work orders read:

"_Work Order to Build Secret Antarctic Facility."_

"_Work Order to Cover-Up Construction of Secret Antarctic Facility."_

"_Receipt of Successful Cover-Up of Secret Antarctic Facility."_

"_Note of Inability to Mail Receipt. Request for Current Address."_

"_Request to Confirm Current Address Submission at Following Antarctic Address:"_

Bureaucracy can be hell on secret plans. We print out coordinates and stride off towards Archie. A nod between us. This may be one-way trip.

Take Dan aside. Motion for a handshake. I know I haven't been easy to work with but…Tough to say…_I have been, and shall always be, your friend._ He smiles. Shakes my hand. He says he's proud to have been my partner. Likewise, old friend.

Joke's on him. Got that friend line from _Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan._ Would love to see him attempt to tell someone of my candidness one day, only to have them reply with a Vulcan salute and "Live Long and Prosper." That will be my legacy. He may look upon what we had and believe that I didn't care about our friendship. Not true. As crazy as it sounds, hope he realizes I did care.

Cared enough not to drop him down elevator shaft when he pissed me off. Cared enough to not break fingers when he made fun of my sugar cube addiction. Cared enough not complain when we fought his battles—and cared enough to listen to cries when we lost. Being his partner went against everything Rorschach stands for. Not even in the face of Armageddon. Never compromise. Men go to jail. Dogs get put down.

Were my best friend, Daniel Dreiberg. Regret every minute of it. But cared enough not to show it…


	12. Shadow of the watchtower

**Rorschach's Journal #13**

Final entry?

Finding it difficult to argue to contrary. Veidt behind everything. Dan finally believes me. Insists on going to Antarctica to find the man behind this plot. Archie capable of making it to destination. But are _we_ capable of facing what lies beyond veil? Still uncertain.

Veidt. Cannot imagine more powerful enemy. Mostly because I knew of his scheme all along. Hard to think of anyone else. But couldn't merely jump the gun. All mysteries fall flat without follow-up and investigation. The Comedian knew this. Knew all of this. That's why no note was left detailing who the perpetrator had been. Would take all the air out of balloon rather quickly. Was willing to get thrown out of window to preserve that fact.

Too much speculation. Could be wrong. What's done is done. What is today, but tomorrow's yesterday?

Victory in this matter—not likely. Veidt is stronger and faster than both Dan, myself, and _Spiderman _combined. Having Manhattan around would help. Why isn't he here? Couldn't he see this coming? Haven't been able to call him "Big blue geek" yet. Disappointing.

But life can only be defined by disappointments. Dreams gone astray. Precious baggage left behind as the cleansing flood rolls in. We had an idea. Let them say that even after we are gone. That we hoped to make this world a better place. No matter what that meant—and how little it mattered in the end.

We had an idea.

And God help us, we tried.

_I_ tried, that is. Everyone else dropped ball until climax.

Yes. Final entry. There can be no return from this. Pillars of fate crashing down around us from every angle. Only way out is to step aside. To run. Turn our backs on what has been placed in front of us and knowingly disregard. No. Never compromise.

Tell Dan must check mail drop. This journal will find you shortly.

Whether or not our most definite of destinies avoids us this day, you will know truth of the matter. Adrian Veidt is responsible. Exact nature of plan unknown, but the writing is on the wall. Gears are still in motion. What may happen when the clock strikes midnight will affect many things—not excluding whether this journal will find you safely.

For my own part. Regret nothing. If had to pick one thing, though. _Star Wars:_ _Episode I_ promised to be a sight to see one day. Positive it couldn't possibly end in complete disappointment…or anger.

Leave these writings to you now. Pray they might lead you astray from the dimming path on which we all tarry so unknowingly. Only so many minutes to spare.

Appreciate your recent support, reader. Leave you now with knowledge I have lived my life free of compromise.

And step into the shadow now without complaint…

_-Rorschach_

_November 1__st__, 1985_

P.S. – Ignore childish doodles on back cover. Patrols never always filled with excitement. Well aware Manhattan's package does not, in fact, fire radioactive lasers that topple monuments. If ironically true, condolences are with Laurie.

Hurm…


	13. A Stronger Loving World

_**New York City, NY**_

_**December 25**__**th**__**, 1985**_

"What are you talking about? Of course, I want the damn scoop!" Hector Godfrey shouted into the telephone's receiver, causing many of the typists and receptionists to bounce in their seats. A few of them even yanking a now-ruined page from their typewriters to begin again.

The office of the _New Frontiersman_ publications had once seen busier days and pages crowded with news. It was hailed as one of the most formidable right-wing feeds on the east coast. Now, the printing presses were growing quieter by the day. The tip lines were drying up and reporters were coming back empty-handed. Word was getting around that the Sunday edition might not see the light of day that week. No one could even remember a time when that had happened.

Certainly not anytime before the attack on New York. Before _____ nearly destroyed the entire city. Millions of lives were lost. The stagnation brought about by Nixon's reign was giving rise to a new, unified world order. And the nations of Earth had no one to blame but _____'s devastating intrusion.

It was like a bad dream to conservatives everywhere. At least, that's what Godfrey had called it. He needed news. Anything to go on, but had absolutely nothing to work with.

He continued chewing out the reporter on the line. He needed someone tangible in his crosshairs. "Just get back here. Make some calls and get into that press conference. If you can't do that, you might as well box up your desk tonight!" Godfrey slammed the phone back onto its base. He cursed into the air and began stomping through the main floor to his office. "What're you all looking at!" he huffed as he stormed away. "Get back to work!"

He very nearly slammed the door to his office behind him, but found his pudgy embarrassment of an assistant, Seymour, attempting to organize some things around the room. Though, it was hard for the young man to do much of anything with the giant burger in his hand. Before Godfrey could chew him out, the burger began dripping, sending a line of ketchup sliding across Seymour's smiley face shirt.

"What's going on here?" Godfrey asked, perturbed.

Seymour whirled around to face his boss, spooked, before turning his attention down towards his own shirt. "An allusion?"

The editor-in-chief sighed and ran a hand through his graying hair. "It's called an allegory, you dumb nut." He shirked his shoulders. "What does it matter? We got nothing to write about anymore. Not since that crazy _you know what_ tried to wipe us out."

Seymour looked confused. "You mean the—"

"Yes, _that!"_ Godfrey cut him off. "And because of _that thing_, we've got blank pages on our hands."

"Oh!" The assistant waved his free hand around. "I heard Robert Redford might be running for president in '88."

"The actor?" The man looked at his assistant like he was a madman. "Are you that much of an ar-tard? Do you just accept everything you hear at frippin face-value? Why don't we just elect that hack Ronald Reagan to office? Or the goddamn _Terminator_ while you're at it? Jesus, Mary and Skywalker, at least try to make it sound credible!"

Seymour took a bite of his burger, defeated. With an ingenuous shrug, he pointed to the stack of parcels sitting by the window. "If you want, I could pull something from the crank file."

With a scoff, Godfrey turned away. Turning to the crank file had always been a ritual reserved for when the publication needed some laughs on paper. It was never meant to be their saving grace. _Ever._ He was just about ready to retire after this whole mess. "I don't care," he said with a dismissive wave. "Take some initiative. Pull whatever you feel like. I leave it entirely in your hands."

Against some sort of historical canon, a _My Chemical Romance _cover begins to play gently through the overhead speakers. As it picks up, Seymour sets down his burger and wipes the grease off his hands and onto his pants. With a determined streak running through him, and a fierce wanting to impress the boss, he turns toward the crank file—taking special notice of a dark, leather-bound journal sitting unassumingly amongst the parcels…

_Rorschach's Journal – October 12__th__, 1985_

_Tonight, a Comedian died in New York._

_Sucks…_

_

* * *

_**Closing Notes:

* * *

**

Thank you very much for the reviews and support! Wouldn't have kept going beyond the first chapter if it hadn't been for that pleasant surprise. Was never very confident in my parody abilities. The response was much more positive than I imagined it would be. Especially since I know what it means to be an Alan Moore loyalist. xD

But I feel that I must point out a few things:

- Yes, yes, I know the title is spelled wrong. It was a parody itself because I've seen an innumerable amount of people spell it in that form all over the place (Google "The End is Neigh" and weep for humanity). _Neigh, horse!_

- I love _Watchmen_. Trust me, I do. The movie...that, too. It was a direct translation, which is alright by me. But it made the experience rather boring because I knew everything that was going to happen. A few things were changed, and those surprised me. On the whole, I think the director's cut will be much better. The story of the two Bernie's was a sad thing to lose in translation, as their deaths had no purpose in the end in comparison to the comic (which was the most emotional part for me). Bah, off on a tangent here. Not the place for a rant. What I'm trying to say is the story and the characters are very dear to me. That's it!

-Must also somewhat apologize for the places where certain aspects of the story are _exaggerated._ The run-on Big Figure jokes. Dan's depressing love life. Manhattan's equipment. They were all little things in the story, so it was my intention to blow them out of proportion. Take that as a pun if you'd like.

And, as always, thank you to the readers, those about to review, and those who did review during the writing process:

_MK08 _(For leaving a review nearly every step of the way. Thanks much!)

_Leya Gecko _(And to you as well, thanks for keeping up on the story!)

_Mister Buch _(Co-author and fellow Crimebuster!)

_hmsbeta_

_Zach Archer _(For dutifully pointing out that I "spelt" my "stories" title wrong. I salute you, sir.)

_AnonymousPsuedony_

_silent-suffering_

_k8_

_Doom Dragon_

_FSB_

_Beatlemaniac1_

_Shark Blank_

_Em-K_

_Twisted Root_

_Neetyneet_

_anon_ (Always happy to please the greats. =D)

Thanks again! Hopefully I can get something else done in this here universe. Entirely skipped over the interview Kovacs had with Doctor Malcolm Long for pacing's sake. Thinking I might head there and make a short thing out of that. But who knows? I certainly don't!

"So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late."

-knight


End file.
